


toast what could have been

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, everyone's favorite amirite, the major character death is canon and to be expected but you gotta be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-16 22:29:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5843383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exchange between Angelica Schuyler and John Laurens after the wedding. Everyone's in love with Alexander, and it's awfully late to have to deal with this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	toast what could have been

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to play with the idea of angelica and john bonding over both being in love with alexander and it got kinda sad, kinda angsty, and all together not what i was expecting to write. but here we are!
> 
> a couple of notes:
> 
> \- yeah this is in no way what the wedding was like. roll w it  
> \- for story's sake the wedding was at the schuyler's  
> \- the title is from "dearly departed" by marianas trench don't ask they're just a hot mess of a band  
> 

He’s sitting in the living room, draped across their sofa, when Angelica finds him. Extending the candle she holds, she can see Laurens’ arm slung across his face, leg hanging off of the couch. The scent of alcohol carries across the room, and she sighs. He snores lightly.

“Are you alright?” Angelica asks, breaking the silence. She hardly expects a reply, and takes a step forward to shake him awake when he starts, eyes alert. He blinks, turning to watch her in the door frame. Candlelight illuminates a tired face with rigid features. She’s still in her party wear, he realises – his continued company has kept her playing the role of host.

“Oh, quite,” he slurs, sitting up. He turns to look around at the dark room; the fireplace that was snapping and alive when he collapsed in an intoxicated heap into the couch is filled with only embers and dim heat. Oil paintings glisten against the candlelight and the carpet is soft beneath his feet. “Is anyone still here, or awake?”

“No-one but yourself and me.” At this, he groans.

“I’m sorry; I planned on returning to my lodgings. I must have gotten carried away with my drinks. It was…” he falters. “What a wedding.”

“It was a marvelous wedding,” Angelica says dryly. Laurens hastens to stand, putting a hand to his temple, the alcohol pounding in his head. He laughs, or more, he barks; it’s a rough laugh, rough with alcohol, and bitter, bitter for some reason Angelica can’t place.

“Do I detect something sour in your tone?” he asks. His speech is clearer now as he stands; they both seem surprised that he’s retained any form of wit.

“Nothing that should be there,” she replies. They both pause. Laurens sways unsteadily; although his voice is solid, spirits still move in his system. Angelica steps closer.

“I don’t think it’s wise for you to do any sort of travelling; it’s late and you are not in your best mind. We have a spare guest room prepared…”

“That would be incredibly kind of you,” he says, moving towards the doorway, where low candles cast long shadows against the walls. He beckons for her to lead the way, and they head out into the hall.

The clock reads after two in the morning; a sleepy silence fills the air. The dark December night presses against the windows, and the cold has creeped into the walls and floor. They move slowly, as ghosts. Laurens seems to be in the midst of a soliloquy; his lips move without sound, and a wistful look fills his eyes. Angelica is stiff, back straight and muscles locked. He assumes it’s part of her intense attitude; after all, they haven’t known each other aside mentions in passing and tonight.

“I trust you enjoyed the ceremony?” he asks as they travel down the hallway. It’s a good-natured question, one to break the tense quiet Laurens struggles to bear.

“It was very pleasant, even if Alexander’s vows were a bit… overbearing,” Angelica says softly. When Laurens looks, she’s smiling gently to herself, eyes downcast; her intimidating demeanor seems to have vanished. He wonders if it’s just the fatigue that comes with witching hour, or if her smile is sincere.

“Well, of course. This is Alexander, after all,” Laurens replies.

“I thought vows were supposed to be succinct.”

“It’s only to be expected. You haven’t worked with him as I have; anything someone else does, he can improve. There’s hardly a word that goes through Alexander that isn’t argued over, usually with an extra five pages. In work, he is very abrasive. In relationships, I know otherwise, though in some manners he is just as overwhelming. Your sister has married…” he hesitates, “quite a man.”

Angelica tenses.

“... quite.”

Laurens stops and looks at her, his expression unreadable. Her response ghosts on his lips; in defense, Angelica rolls back her shoulders, aggressiveness rising on her face.

“Have I said something?”

"You tell me,” he says. Angelica scoffs and walks ahead of him.

“Your room is just down here,” she calls back. Laurens hasn’t moved.

“Do you love him?”

She freezes.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do you love him?” It’s a statement now, and Angelica is in such a bout of offense and surprise that all she manages to spit back is:

“Do _you_?”

Silence.

Instead of “well as a brother, of course,” or “are you accusing me of sodomy?” or “like you do your sister,” or “what are you suggesting?” or any other appropriate, expected response from a respectable young man, there is silence.

They gawk at one another. Laurens seems more defeated than horrified or exposed. His shoulders sag with fatigue; his mouth lolls open. Angelica’s armor drops, and the intensity in her eyes fades as vulnerability replaces it. Knives spin around in her stomach, in his stomach; he knows, she knows, he knows, she knows. Thousands of thoughts churn in Angelica’s mind, and oh god, it’s awfully too late for this, it’s awfully too late –

“So it seems we’re both in this… predicament.”

Angelica, still aghast, doesn’t respond. Laurens sighs.

“During the ceremony, I saw you, just as I saw myself, and I thought... it really was a marvelous wedding. It would have been the most enjoyable, if it were not my Alexander’s,” he continues, spilling far more than a properly sober mind would ever allow. “I shouldn’t complain when I, myself, am some sorts of married, but I wanted to believe it would last, that we really did–”

“Alexander? A sodomite?” Angelica manages to stutter.

“That’s not a very polite term, you know.”

“Pardon me. I… I just never would have imagined… and it’s awfully late…”

“The lateness of the hour means little,” Laurens responds, but it's not in retaliation.

“Yes,” she agrees absent-mindedly. She gulps, and Laurens raises his eyebrows; taking a deep breath, Angelica tries to compose herself as Laurens stares her up and down.

“Well,” she starts, returning the gaze, “if nothing else, I can see why out of anyone, it would be you.”

Laurens snorts, and just like that, the horror that’s been consuming them is gone; something unspoken is exchanged between them, something that allows them both to relax. 

“I’m quite sorry on your behalf. I do not know if it is worse to have him and lose him, or to always almost have him, but never truly.”

“I would say our unluck is equal,” Angelica replies quietly. She smiles like she did before, small and soft. Laurens returns it, wider and sloppier. They know. Neither will tell.

“Now, I would very much like to retire to bed. I daresay there’s been enough truth-telling for one night, and for one wedding.”

Angelica steps to open the guest room door and passes the candle to him.

“Good night... John.”

“Good night, Angelica.”

The door closes behind him. In the morning, he’s gone.

* * *

_Two years later -_

Eliza and Angelica sit on the porch of the Schuyler house after dinner. November has arrived, with falling leaves and quiet cold, and something about the darkness against the windows, the silence in the air, reminds Angelica of John Laurens at two in the morning, somewhat drunk and all together defeated.

“Say, whatever became of John Laurens?” she asks in passing.

“Oh,” Eliza says softly, and concern flames in Angelica’s stomach. “He was killed this August. He and his brigade, they didn’t know the war was over…”

“Oh. I quite liked him,” Angelica breathes. For a moment, they both say nothing, staring at the night in front of them.

“How is Alexander?”

Eliza purses her lips.

“That, I wish I knew. He won’t talk to me. He won’t talk to anyone.”

“I thought Alexander never ran out of words,” Angelica says.

“It seems that Laurens is the exception,” Eliza replies. Bitterness tinges her voice; it is not unlike the bitterness that ran through Laurens’ that night.

“He loved him.” Angelica’s not really sure who she’s referring to.

“Sometimes I wonder how much that meant,” Eliza finds herself saying; Angelica turns to see her sister tense, and clasps Eliza’s hands in hers.

“It was as I love you. As siblings."

“Are you sure?”

Angelica pauses before responding.

“As sure as I can be.”

**Author's Note:**

> yay to me for writing my first hamilton fic!! into hell i go
> 
> i hope y'all enjoyed!


End file.
